


This is your brain on drugs 🍳

by gothapologist



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, Hate Sex, I suppose, M/M, My First AO3 Post, Trans Oswald Cobblepot, Vaginal Sex, as much as i hate the phrase i guess it belongs here, as the title implies, damn you guys really weren't kidding about tagging being hard. i have no idea what else to put here, hallucination!Oswald, its self indulgence luv, none of yall snitch to god about me making this, or i dont think im gonna make it past the pearly gates, there were no good trans fics i could find so i had to do it my damn self i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 03:14:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30082629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothapologist/pseuds/gothapologist
Summary: this was absurd. he was not going to fuck his hallucination.(he fucks his hallucination)
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	This is your brain on drugs 🍳

**Author's Note:**

> hello this is literally the first fanfic I've ever posted <3 and enjoy you freaks
> 
> (note there are a couple jokes scattered through here so sorry for the unprofessionalism i had to keep my sanity somehow)

have mercy <3

The heels of his palms dug into his skull as Edward tried to stamp out the fragmented light filtering through the curtains. His lack of sleep made any amount of light unbearable, and the drugs definitely weren’t helping. What little rest he did get was plagued with nightmares full of brine and bullets, often resulting in Edward jolting awake, feeling just as unrested as he had been before drifting unconscious. And courtesy of his latest hobby, his time spent conscious was no less macabre or regretful. So he sat, digging his hands into his eyes to avoid whatever new horror awaited him were he to open them.

  
“I told you you’d regret it”, the cold weight at the end of his bed sneered, despite Edward’s best attempts to ignore it. “I told you you’d miss me.”

  
Edward ground his teeth and groaned, blindly reaching for his glasses while keeping his eyes tightened. “And I thought I told you to go away,” Edward growled, daring to peer at the apparition he knew would greet him. The figure was standing over him now, greasy hair dripping onto the mattress. Edward could see his awful grin despite his vision being blurred from fatigue.

  
“We both know, somewhere in that complex mind of yours, you want me to be here,” the wet ghost hummed, “I am just a projection of your subconscious after all.” He punctuated the last sentence with a jab to Edward’s shoulder, despite supposedly being a figment of his imagination. Edward knew, of course, that the specter was right. He internally invented excuse after excuse as to why he continued to “self medicate”, but he knew deep down it was all just to see Oswald again. Albeit, a horrific reflection of him that Edward’s deepest psyche had spawned, but his old friend nonetheless.

  
Sitting up, Edward glared at said reflection with sunken eyes. He knew better than to humor his hallucinations with a reply, but the soggy smugness that loomed over him was almost too difficult to ignore. Edward stood with a groan, happy now to loom over him for a change. He was always a fan of how Oswald had looked up to him, both metaphorically and literally. He pushed past the smaller man to his dresser, indifferently examining the remains of his little tin box. He read the contents over and over again, really just trying to find something to distract himself with.

  
Unfortunately (and not surprisingly) the ghost saw right through him.

  
“You know two well-placed fingers to the back of your throat would get rid of me,” he offered. Edward did in fact know this, remembering all of the times his visions made his head spin a little bit too much.

  
“Two well-placed fingers somewhere else would probably get rid of me too,” the fiend giggled, warranting a flushed eye roll from Edward. Of all the hallucinations his overworked brain cooked up, he particularly hated this overly flirtatious caricature of his friend. He knew the real Oswald would never be so cartoonishly sultry. Probably. He never dared to test that theory. Edward tried his best to immediately halt that train of thought while simultaneously ignore the growing giggles from behind him. He also hated the fact this overly flirtatious caricature of his friend knew everything he was thinking.

  
“Don’t act like you’ve never thought about it,” he could hear him smirk, “About me?”

  
“I don’t” Edward replied plainly.

  
Edward did feel a hint of pride at the frustration radiating off of the ghastly haunt behind him. He was lying of course. If he had never thought about it, then why would this projection of his innermost thoughts suggest it? He understood the logistical flaw, he just enjoyed denying his subconscious the satisfaction of submission. But of course, his vision knew all of this. Irritated, the dripping presence limped towards Edward accursedly until he was standing directly under him.

  
“Don’t you wonder why I always look like this? Why I don’t look like her?” He bit as Edward flinched at the implied accusation, “Why don’t you ever listen to what you’re trying to tell yourself?”

  
The truth was that Edward had gotten comfortable around Oswald, too comfortable. He felt himself slip into that same familiar fuzziness he had felt with Kristen, full of giddy smiles and words of affirmation. To be honest, it had scared him. He had never experienced that with a man, especially not a man that accentuated his more troubling side of life. He had panicked, and at the time was relieved Isabella had appeared when she did. She was his chance at normalcy, to prove he was as straight (in both senses of the word) as his certificate claimed. And when she was ripped from his life with Oswald to blame? His anxiety fully took over. Edward vocally denied he loved the man he shot knowing full well he was trying to convince himself more than anyone. And now here he stood, staring down the drenched personification of his regrets.

  
“I don’t- I do not want-” Edward stuttered, gesturing vaguely.

  
“And yet, here I am” the apparition replied. Edward didn’t have to finish the thought. “So clearly,” the wet ghost stalked closer to him, placing heavy hands on Edward’s chest until his back hit the dresser, “you do want.” His sentence tapered into a low whisper as Edward felt the cold seeping through his mangy button-up. He should’ve been paying attention to whatever the hell made up those little capsules, they can give you one hell of a trip. And unlock things you NEVER wanted to surface. This overtly coy version of Oswald is one that only existed within the darkest confines of Edward’s mind, surfacing soley during his loneliest nights. But here it stood, practically feeling him up with an unmistakably amorous expression. Pills and denial are one hell of a combination.

  
Snapping out of whatever trance he found himself in (as if this entire thing wasn’t a trance 🙄), Edward grabbed the small man by his lapels and swiftly spun him around until his back was to the dresser. He, of course, was unfazed. “You always did think of yourself as a rough one,” the vision teased, “If I wasn’t already dead, I’d be afraid you might choke me out.” Edward slammed him against the creaking wood for that comment, only receiving a chiding sneer in return. “Maybe you’ll try anyway,” he said with a grin, wet hands still permeating the fabric of his shirt.

  
“Stop talking,” Edward snarled.

  
“Make me,” the apparition predictably purred (<—this is for you Lauren)

  
Edward hated the cliché scenario he found himself in, but couldn’t help steal a glance at the lips grinning at him. They possessed a sickly blue hue and were probably uncomfortably frigid. He had never wanted to kiss a dead man so badly before. He swallowed hard.  
This was absurd. He was not going to fuck his hallucination.

  
Edward once more looked down at the greasy creature in his grasp and felt the cold hands planted on his chest sink lower. He jumped when they snaked under his disheveled shirt and rested on his bare waist. The bitter fingers sent a chill down Edward’s spine as he huffed in disbelief.

  
He was going to fuck his hallucination.

  
Edward pulled the ghost in by his slimy tie and crashed his lips into the apparition’s. It wasn’t entirely pleasant, more akin to what Edward imagined kissing a corpse would be like, but the identity behind it drove him. The frigid fingers gripped his sides as Edward’s own hands found their way to his back.

  
This Oswald really was unpleasantly cold and wet. Edward refused to let himself wonder how it would feel had he not panicked if the flesh beneath him still radiated warmth. Edward pawed at the oily clothes, suddenly desperate to check for some sort of pulse or heartbeat. Shaking hands found their way under the raggedy wet shirt, only to find the frigid skin warming under his touch. Maybe he could bring him back to life. Maybe he wasn’t really gone.

  
Edward broke the horrid kiss to examine his handy work. The vision was significantly less ghastly, the previous undead hue to his face being replaced by a healthy flush. He was starting to resemble the Oswald that Edward remembered. The one he was afraid to love.  
“Don’t go getting sappy on me now,” his Oswald said, breath heaving slightly, “you have a job to do.” He ended the sentence with an uncomfortably slow once-over that broke his previously intense eye contact.

  
Edward swallowed again. He realized now how he was almost smothering the shorter man, slotted between his legs and pressing his back onto the small dresser. He was also embarrassed to realize how painfully turned on he was, and he was sure his psychedelic companion could tell, even if he wasn’t a figment of his imagination. Edward let out a methodical exhale before pulling Oswald into another kiss, this one less hungry and significantly less cadaverous. He trailed his hand up the cold thigh until it found its way to the belt buckle, hands trembling as he stumbled to undo the biting metal. He could feel Oswald smirk at his childish hesitancy. In return he tried his best to tug the soaking pants off with as little delicacy as he could muster, planting his warm hands on the soft thighs.

  
Edward pulled away from Oswald’s mouth to rest his forehead in the crux of his neck, panting like an idiot. If he was going to do this he was going to need all the oxygen he could get or he was going to pass out. He hoped that was just a side effect of the drugs.

  
With fingers still quivering, Edward reached for the warmth at Oswald’s core. The sheer contrast of his cold clammy thighs and the slick heat between them was almost overwhelming, enough to draw a gasp from Edward’s now gaping mouth. The apparition pulled him in by the collar, “So this is the fantasy version of me you’ve spun up?”, he huffed into his ear, “Always knew you were a freak.”

  
In actuality, Edward had always just assumed this was a part of his companion’s life. If his small stature and nasally voice had not already given him away, the time spent nursing him had. While Edward had left Oswald some privacy while dressing his wounds, his encyclopedic knowledge of medical scars had left little to the imagination. He knew better than to ask about the pale strips that sat amongst the other various remnants of injuries past, especially when Oswald caught him staring at them. He never said anything, but Edward recognized the silent demand behind the glare: don’t. He knew it was none of his business to ask, and understood why he would be so secretive about this part of himself. The raw anger he harbored only festered within the type of man that had to fight tooth and nail for everything he had, including his own name. Oswald would not allow all he had built to be compromised by some petty secret like this getting out. Edward felt a pang in understanding how much he had been trusted with said secret. Betrayal sure is a bitch.

  
Screwing his eyes shut, Edward didn’t give the vision the satisfaction of a response, only leaning more of his weight onto him. He worked his nimble hands into the heat, seeking warmth as the surrounding dripping cold seeped into his bones. Edward felt like a freezing man hopeless enough to plunge his frostbitten fingers into what little coals his fire had left, only ending up burnt and desperate. And desperate he was. With his idle hand, Edward reached towards Oswald’s head to tug at a handful of wet locks, his mouth finding the neck that was then exposed. The combination of his teeth finding refuge behind the pale ears and his now sticky fingers coaxed a crude whine from Oswald before he cut himself off with a scoff.

  
“Is that really what you think I sound like in bed? A bit licentious, don’t you think?” He choked out as Edward doubled his efforts in an attempt to shut him up. He really did not need any more of this snarky internal dialogue killing the mood. Long fingers stroked and prodded, his limited experience glaring as he tried to cover it up by sucking at whatever flesh his lips could find. Edward had seemingly succeeded in silencing any more backtalk from the apparition, receiving now only needy moans. He would agree that they did sound a tad overly promiscuous if they weren’t his main motivation to rail the scrawny man beneath him.

  
Retrieving viscid fingers, Edward’s still shaking hands reached to his own rugged pants, sighing at the touch. He was achingly hard, to the point where the still sane corner of his brain worried if this was a side effect of the drugs he had been taking. Unfortunately, the sane corner of his brain was rendered inoperable when impatient hands reached for his hem to undo its buttons. Edward gasped when the frigid fingers brushed against him.

  
“We don’t have all night, those pills are temporary,” the twisted Oswald said with an extremely unsexy eye-roll, “Maybe if you didn’t kill me you could take your sweet time.” That snapped Edward out of it, grabbing the numb wrists and yanking them above his hair. He silently gloated that he could hold both of the thin wrists in only one of his own hands.

  
“We,” Edward began, voice hoarse from his labored breath, “are on my time.” That seemed to shut the ghost up. Edward really did not need him chiming in right now. He tried to catch his own breath as he reached into his own boxers and pulled out his ENORME ERECCIÓN. Guiding himself with still quivering hands, Edward eased himself past the wet folds and into the man beneath him.

  
The first thing that hit him was the heat. Edward swore neither of his past girlfriends been this intense, but he also wasn’t under the influence of psychedelics at the time. He huffed, barely inside but already heavily perspiring. Maybe that was another side effect. Edward refocused to move past the half-inch he already had in, hissing through gritted teeth. Apparently, this tender pace was not something Oswald agreed with, a leg hooking the small of Edward’s back and tugging. Edward unexpectedly jerked forward, a strangled cry escaping him as he fully sheathed Oswald in one fell swoop. The vision grabbed him by the collar of the shirt, bringing him nose to nose, seemingly unfazed by the very sudden intrusion.

  
“I am a hallucination,” Oswald snarled, ignoring Edward’s gulping pants, “I am a vision. A ghost. You are not going to break me,” Edward was going to pass out. He was not about to let this petty mirage best him. Edward inhaled before grabbing the clammy hips, and setting a brutal pace.

  
Edward couldn’t help but compare this to his only two other brief experiences with sex. With Kristen he had been a sweet bumbling virgin, barely lasting more than two minutes. He had been gentle, and she was in return. Isabella’s fling was more passionate, leaving him a bit nicked and bruised in the morning. This was something different entirely. The aggressive slapping of hip to hip almost hurt, and Edward was sure his blunt fingers nails would leave marks if the flesh he was grasping were real. The Oswald he was pumping into was clutching his raggedy shirt collar and making absurdly obscene noises, almost to the point where Edward suspected him of faking them.

  
Edward once again shut his eyes, unable to handle the sight below him. He had always assumed Oswald would be just as eccentric during sex as he was during everything else he did, face red and teeth gnashing. Edward had no intention of seeing whatever vulgar scene his mind had concocted for him. The sounds were more than enough motivation as he continued his selfish rhythm, each jab of his hips only pulling more from his lips. He knew he was going to last an embarrassingly short time at this pace, and he also knew the ghost wouldn’t let him forget it. The hands grasping his collar pulled him in again, wet breath against his ear.

  
“Is this how you treated your precious girlfriends?” Oswald panted, apparently determined to not let Edward finish in peace, “Is this how you fucked them before choking them out and hiding their bodies?”

  
Edward really did try his best to ignore the commentary. Guilt was not the best emotion to orgasm to. He picked up the already quick pace, hasty to either shut the vision up or just get this over with. Oswald only gripped him collar harder in return.

  
“Did Isabella ever let you come inside of her?”, Oswald hissed as Edward recoiled at the name, “I would’ve. You know I would’ve. I would’ve done anything for you, Ed.” Edward felt the air knocked out of him at such a claim, but of course, he was right. Neither of his late girlfriends had allowed for such an intimacy, and knowing Oswald would’ve begged for it only pushed him closer to the edge.

  
He moved the sweaty hand planted on a sweaty waist and reached for the delicate neck that laid before him. Wrapping his sticky fingers around the skin, he thought of how easily he could crush the annoying windpipe. He even knew the perfect place to hide the body too. Nobody would find him at the bottom of the river.

  
It was when Oswald let out a choked cry that Edward finally uncoiled. Spilled inside him, just like he asked. Edward once more squeezed his eyes shut and froze, clutching his companion through what he could confidently consider the strangest orgasm of his life.

He noticed the body was no longer cold.

When Edward opened his eyes, it was with a full-body jolt and the worst headache of his life. He found himself on the floor of his room, an empty tin box in one hand and the other down his now sticky boxers. Edward quickly retracted his wet hand, disgustedly wiping it off on his nearest dirty laundry. He was a mess. It was dark out, yet even the most squalid corners of the room were illuminated by the swollen moon outside. Edward rubbed his face with his clean hand, trying to ward off the splitting pain hammering at his skull. He honestly couldn’t tell if what he just awoke from was a fever dream or a waking hallucination, simply that it had left him all the more empty. Edward sighed and defeatedly dropped his head, blearily watching the dust motes waltz through the moonlight. Cold and alone again.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you're happy this was maybe the most shameful thing I've ever done


End file.
